Brotherhood
by The Dunadan
Summary: This is a short story focusing mostly on Faramir's thoughts and emotions. The scene from the Two Towers Extended Edition where Faramir is degraded by Denethor and Boromir leaves for Rivendell. Faramir finds his brother in the boat and receives the pieces


Disclaimer: I do not claim to own these characters(except Darethmond), the films, Tolkien's words or any part of his world.

**Brotherhood**

The cheers of the men were deafening.

Faramir beamed from below as his brother gave his victory speech. Gondor had just reclaimed the city of Osgiliath from Mordor, and it was time for celebration.

"This city of Osgiliath has been reclaimed for Gondor!" Boromir cried, raising his sword.

"For Gondor!" Faramir yelled back with the enthusiastic crowd.

"For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!"

With that, Boromir descended from his high place and disappeared into the crowd of cheering soldiers. Faramir quickly moved through the crowd in search of his big brother. He didn't have to search far; Boromir was moving towards him as well. They collided into a massive, brotherly embrace. 

"Good speech." Faramir said, pulling away. "Nice and short."

"Leaves more time for drinking!" Boromir replied jovially.

The two burst into laughter.

"Break out the ale, these men are thirsty!" Boromir gestured to the cheering crowd.

The ale was brought, and Boromir promptly filled two goblets and handed one to Faramir.

"Remember today, little brother. Today, life is good."

Each took a great swig of ale and stared at each other happily. Faramir had always admired his big brother. Boromir the warrior. All the men shared a great admiration for him, but none equaled Faramir's. Not only were the two brothers, they were best friends. As children, they played soldiers and were heroes, conquerors of all imaginary foes. As they grew, Boromir proved to be the more warlike of the two. But there was no denying Faramir's skill in battle, except by their father, Denethor, Steward of Gondor. Faramir heard his voice approaching.

"Well done, men!" he congratulated the soldiers.

Faramir glanced over at him, then back at Boromir, his smile quickly fading from his face.

"What?" asked Boromir, confused by his brother's sudden change of mood.

"He's here."

Boromir followed Faramir's gaze. 

"One more moment of peace, could he not give us that?" he asked, upset.

Denethor spotted them. "Where is he? Where is Gondor's finest?" Pride was engraved in every inch of the Steward's face and could be heard clearly in his voice. "Where is my firstborn?"

They could not ignore him.

"Father!" Boromir put on a smile and embraced his father.

"They say you vanquished the enemy almost single-handed!" 

"They exaggerate. The victory belongs to Faramir also." Boromir gestured toward his little brother, who watched from a few feet away. 

Now he smiled and stepped forward, hoping for an embrace or word of praise from his father.

"But for Faramir this city would still be standing." came his father's cruel reply. "Were you not entrusted to protect it?"

Faramir halted in his tracks, his smile and his hopes faded.

 "I would have done but our numbers were too few." he explained, hurt, and hoping in vain for understanding and forgiveness, though he was not at fault. 

"All too few." Denethor said, as though it were a feeble excuse. "You let the enemy walk in and take it on a whim!" He walked towards his youngest son, narrowing his eyes. "Always you cast a poor reflection on me."

Faramir shook his head. "That is not my intent."

Nothing he did would ever be good enough. All of his father's love was spent on Boromir, and Faramir was barred from it. Denethor had been unkind to him as far back as he could remember, but had never told him why. Faramir had repeatedly tried to earn his love; a smile or a show of pride or words of praise for him was constantly craved, but never given. Boromir showered him with the love his father did not give; he had even set up situations for Faramir to be the hero in various attempts for pride and love to be given. But praise was always withheld. Denethor always found something wrong with his youngest son, and nothing wrong with his eldest. If Faramir had defeated Mordor and claimed it's territory for Gondor, Denethor still would have scolded that too many lives were lost, or it should have been done swifter, and so forth.

"You give him no credit and yet he tries to do your will." Boromir said, upset by his father's cruelty.

 Boromir always tried to give Faramir credit, to make him sound like the hero that he was. He always stuck up for him and put in a good word, but it was no use. He stormed into a nearby building, followed by his father, leaving Faramir standing where he was, rejected and alone.

"He loves you, father!" Faramir heard Boromir say. Boromir understood him.

"Do not trouble me with Faramir! I know his uses and they are few." 

His father's words stabbed him like a knife through the heart. He took a step back, as if they literally had. Denethor's voice fell to a secretive tone and Boromir was silent. For a few moments, all Faramir could hear was the Steward's hushed voice, though he could not make out any words. Then he heard Boromir's voice, followed soon after by his muscular form. 

"My place is here with my people, not in Rivendell!"  

Denethor followed his eldest son. "Would you deny your own father?"

Faramir stepped forward, eager to relieve his brother and please his father, no matter the deed. "If there is need to go to Rivendell, send me in his stead."

"You?" Denethor turned his cold, hard gaze upon his youngest. "Oh, I see. A chance for Faramir, Captain of Gondor, to show his quality. I think not. I trust this mission only to your brother. The one who will not fail me."

Faramir's face fell, hurt yet again by his father's ill will towards him. He would not even give him a chance.

Denethor turned to Boromir. "Well?"

"Yes father." He gave in. His father would not stop until he agreed. 

Denethor smiled and placed his hand on Boromir's shoulder. "Good. Go with my blessing, and return with the prize."

Boromir gave him a sad smile and nodded.

Denethor smiled back and strode away, satisfied, leaving a distraught Boromir and an injured Faramir in his wake.

They looked at each other in silence, then Boromir gave a small smile to his little brother and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Faramir. You can see me off at the gate."

Faramir nodded in assent and walked with his brother to the stables, which had survived the attack with minimal damage. He winced, remembering his father's harsh words. Were they true? He looked around at the people, who celebrated victory amidst ruin. If he had done things differently, would the city still be intact?

Boromir glanced at him. "Pay no heed to father." he said, as though reading his thoughts. "He does not realize what he has in you." His eyes scanned the crowd. "Look around you, Faramir."

Faramir obeyed. Soldiers raised their goblets to the pair, cheering, slapping their backs, applauding, and saluting them as they passed.

"They honor you." Boromir looked back at him. "Each and every one of these men would die for you. They know your worth. In battle at least."

Faramir thanked him as they entered the stables. Boromir tacked his horse in silence, then led him out to the gate and mounted him. He tilted his head up and stared at the flag of Gondor one last time, blowing in the cool breeze. 

He was a slave. A slave to his title, to his father, and to his people. He had to go to Rivendell; what choice did he have? He would not ask for such a burden to be taken by Faramir. 

Of course he was willing to sacrifice for his people, but...did he have to go? Right then? It was not just the journey that upset him, it was it's purpose. The One Ring, if such a thing even existed, had been found. Legend said it corrupted all who were near it. If this was so, was it not a dangerous thing to bring to Gondor? Especially with the land of the dark lord being right next to their own. And yet, it could not go to another. The ring _belonged_ to Gondor, Isildur's realm of old. And he was strong, he could resist its power. Such an object could restore hope and faith to his people. But it saddened him to leave. He belonged where he was. He looked down at Faramir, who's blue eyes were filled with admiration for his older brother.

"Remember today, little brother." Boromir said sadly.

Little did he know how well Faramir would remember them. He gave him a sad smile and rode out through the gate.

Three months later, Faramir was looking over some maps in his room when he heard a sound that he knew well. 

_The horn of Gondor_. 

His head jerked up and he ran out to the top of the wall where the guards were on patrol. His eyes frantically scanned the forest for movement, searching for some sign of his brother or enemies which would cause him to blow the heirloom. Should he prepare men to aid him? But the signal seemed distant, miles away. Help would never reach him in time.

Eleven days passed, and Boromir did not come home. Faramir waited, hoping and watching for his return. Both he and his father agreed that some evil must have befallen him, for they had had no news of him.

One night, as he was keeping watch, a movement along the river caught his eye. He sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. The image was still there. He rose and crept to the water's edge, peering into the darkness. It was a boat. From where he stood it appeared empty, yet it was low in the water. He waded to it and peered in as it passed. Faramir gasped.

_It was Boromir_.

A cloak was placed beneath his head and a strange belt was wrapped around his waist. The shards of his sword lay on his lap, with his helmet set beside him and many swords of a crude nature laid beneath his feet. Dried blood stained his travel worn garments. The boat drifted past him, but he dared not stop it. What had happened? Where was his horn? How? When?

"Boromir!" he cried, his tears glistening in the pale moonlight. "Where is thy horn? Whither goest thou? O Boromir!"

His unanswered cries floated away on the breeze as the current carried the boat and it's silent passenger away into the night.

Faramir stood, watching it disappear, hoping that it was all a dream, that he would wake up and receive news of his brother's return. But he did not wake up. He stood in the stream even after the funeral boat had drifted out of sight, confused, his thoughts muddled by grief. Every so often a cry would escape his lips as he stretched out his hand in the direction the boat had gone, only to let it drop in despair. At last, he stumbled blindly back to the shore and sat down, staring out into the distance. 

Hours later, the sun's glow shone on the horizon. Darethmond, one of Faramir's lieutenants, came to relieve him.

"Captain Faramir?"

Faramir slowly looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

Darethmond's brow furrowed with concern. "Captain? What is wrong? What has happened?"

Faramir looked back silently to where he had gazed before. He didn't want to speak of it. Besides, this news should be told to his father first.

"Captain?"

Faramir rose. "All will be revealed in time, Darethmond." He paused. Had any word been sent of Boromir? Some explanation? He braced himself to ask about so grievous a subject.

"Has any news been sent of my brother?"

"No, sir. No news."

Faramir nodded. He hadn't really expected any. He patted Darethmond's shoulder in parting and walked slowly towards his quarters, leaving Darethmond staring at his retreating back. Soldiers stared after their captain as he passed in the streets, muttering to one another about his haggard appearance. His bloodshot eyes seemed focused on some distant point, his face showed signs of grief and no sleep, and the color from his cheeks had disappeared. When he arrived at his quarters, he collapsed wearily on his bed and, having cried all his tears, fell into a fitful sleep, haunted by memories. 

Faramir rose a few hours later and decided to join the men by the campfire where Darethmond was keeping watch. He could not avoid that place or his duties.

The men stood out of respect when their captain arrived. He was greeted as usual by a chorus of "Captain," and was offered breakfast as he sat, which he declined.

"I trust all is quiet on the eastern shore?" he inquired.

"Yes, captain."

"Good." 

'Twould be a pity for a greater loss of life to take place. Some evil was afoot, and he felt sure it had to do with the One Ring. He had been told by Denethor the nature of Boromir's sudden mission. Perhaps that ring was the cause of his brother's untimely death.

"Captain Faramir." Darethmond approached him.

"Yes?" Faramir rose.

"Captain, this morning I sent out one of the men in a boat to patrol the river. He got back just a few moments before you arrived, saying that he saw no sign of the enemy, but that he found this." Darethmond held forth half of an object that Faramir recognized in an instant.

"The horn of Gondor." he murmured. "My brother's horn." Then he spoke louder. "Where is the other half?"

As if on cue, a rider galloped towards them and halted his steed just a few feet away. He dismounted and walked to Faramir.

"Captain Faramir?"

"Yes?"

"I was sent to give you this." The rider held out the other half of the horn.

Faramir took it and fitted the two pieces together.

"Where did you find this?" he whispered.

"One of our watchmen found it in the reeds, northwards below the infalls of the Entwash."

"When?"

"About two days ago."

Faramir was silent for a moment. "Thank you." he looked at the two horn-bearers. "You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Captain." said the two simultaneously.

Darethmond returned to his post and the rider mounted his horse and galloped away. Faramir watched them do so, then gazed down at the horn in his hands. Looking up, he stared in the direction the boat had gone during his watch.

 "Be at peace, brother." He whispered.

 He looked back down at the horn, remembering the last time he had seen it, and his brother. He remembered Boromir staring down at him three months past, his eyes filled with sadness and affection. His words echoed in Faramir's mind. 

_"Remember today, little brother."_


End file.
